


Si Vis Amari

by captain_iodine (orphan_account)



Series: In the Shadow of the Bull [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caesar's Legion, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Legion!Maxson, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10480641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/captain_iodine
Summary: Before Caesar's Legion waged war on the Brotherhood of Steel, Arthur Maxson — known to his Legion brethren as Regulus — was an ambitious young man who soon proved himself in battle and earned the rank of decanus.Livia, meanwhile, was little more than cattle to the Legion — a commodity.This story recounts the beginning of their affair: tumultuous, passionate, and fleeting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Given the history of Caesar's Legion, this fic understandably exists in a universe where slavery is a very real thing.
> 
> I do not _for a minute_ condone it, nor do I intend to romanticise it. In case it needs to be said, the Legion are a vile bunch of murderous, pillaging slavers. Whatever redeeming qualities might be possessed by the individuals within its ranks, they aren't enough to outweigh the atrocities committed by the faction as a whole.

There had been whispers for days: a new decanus, young and ambitious, perhaps even poised to lead a centuria someday.

It had been of little interest to Livia. After almost a decade of serving the Legion, she had learned to ignore the comings and goings of officers; for all the young upstarts who gained notoriety among the Legion, half as many had died without glory.

She might never have paid the new decanus any heed had she not spied him training with his men. He moved with the standard precision of any other legionary — beaten into him by years of brutal regimentation — yet she had seen something else in him that had caught her eye. It had seemed a fire burned within him: a fearsome rage boiling just beneath the surface. 

He intrigued her.

The other women clucked and gossiped about him, of course, and she had to endure their babbling as though they’d never seen such a specimen of a man before. Secretly she let her thoughts linger on him; she would never tell the others as much.

It was a little over a week after she first saw him training with his contubernium that she got the chance to meet him face to face.

It was a balmy September evening, too warm and clammy for any real work, and yet there was always work to be done. Livia sat mending a tear in the tunic of one of the legionaries. The heat prickled at the edge of her attention, sweat beading at the nape of her neck; there would be no reprieve until her tasks were complete. 

She could hear the others, always at the edge of her consciousness — murmuring about the Legion’s latest conquests; sharing superstitions about the position of the moon. It served her well to engage the other women only when necessary, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes as they indulged in their tiresome chatter.

It was easy to get lost in her work: the sway of the needle, the sea of red fabric. She registered the squeak of the door hinges across the room, the clipped tone of the legionary to one of the women. She would never have spared so much as a glance in their direction had she not heard her own name. 

When Livia lifted her head, she found the legionary pointing at her; everyone’s eyes were on her. She ran through all the things she might have done wrong that day, and the appropriate punishments that might be meted out in return, but she could come up with nothing. Nevertheless, it was rarely a good sign to be singled out amongst the women.

‘Come here,’ Hester said. She was unreadable: her large brown eyes betrayed nothing.

Livia carefully set her work aside, stabbing the needle into her pin cushion. When she arrived before the legionary, he looked her over as one might have appraised a brahmin. She was used to it; she knew her place.

‘Dress her in something appropriate,’ he said, waving his hand toward the simple hemp dress she wore. ‘And bathe her. She’ll attend to Decanus Regulus tonight.’

Livia felt a jolt — a little quickening of her pulse. She knew that name, for she had heard it cross the lips of the other women many a time. He was the young man who had recently been promoted, the one everybody couldn’t seem to stop talking about.

She hadn’t realized he knew of her presence, yet he had asked for _her_.

She was still reeling with surprise when Hester gripped her by the elbow and steered her towards the bathing room.

‘Shouldn’t I finish my work?’ she asked, glancing back toward her seat. 

Hester shook her head.

‘Someone else will take over. You mustn’t keep the decanus waiting.’

* * *

She bore a tray in her hands, weighted with a decanter of wine, cups, and a bowl filled with fresh fruits. Her hair was washed, perhaps for the first time in weeks; it had been a while since she had been sent to one of the officers.

Each step seemed to take precariously long, but she didn’t dare spill a drop of wine on her dress. It was a borrowed thing, too loose for her, but the delicate pink of the silk contrasted so wonderfully with the red of her hair that even Hester had nodded in approval when she had slipped into it. She worried that she had already spoiled it with sweat.

Regulus had been given temporary quarters away from the rest of his men, perhaps specially for the occasion. She made for the building that had been set aside for Caesar’s higher ranking officers, an old motel that had been draped in canvas of red and gold wherever bricks and mortar had crumbled away. A legionary stopped her at the door and asked her business, and when she said she was there for Regulus he had done little to hide the knowing smirk on his lips.

She passed door after door, some of them open to reveal the officers within, engrossed in their work. Within one of the rooms she caught sight of one of the other girls kneeling on the floor before a decanus, devoutly washing his feet. She expected indifference on his face but she found him looking on his girl with a glance so profound that it made Livia’s heart pound.

At last she found the door, the rusted metal plate affixed to it proclaiming it to be room 115. It was closed tight, and for a moment she hesitated with her fist raised.

What would he be like? Would he take one look at her and send her away, disappointed by his choice?

She didn’t know why she should be so nervous — if he disliked her so much, what did it matter? The other officers she had attended to over the years had liked her well enough. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of excitement that he had picked her out amongst all the other women.

She took a few slow, measured breaths, then rapped her knuckles against the door.

‘Enter.’

She opened the door barely a crack at first, just enough to peep inside. She saw the flickering light of flames casting shadows on the walls; heard the creak of a wooden chair. When she pushed the door open wider she found him sitting with his back to her at a desk.

She closed the door with a soft _click_.

The room was uncomfortably warm, heat pressing in on all sides from the oil lamps he had burning. She expected him to give her some sort of instruction, but he kept his back to her. When she approached the desk with her tray, he barely looked up.

She set the tray down and filled one of the cups with wine, placing it before him.

He kept his gaze in front of him; for the first time she allowed herself to study the map there. She didn’t recognize the region, but at a glance she saw some names that she knew — Denver, Boulder, Brotherhood of Steel. She had heard whispers about it — rumors that they were on the precipice of war.

He seemed to notice her looking; with a clearing of his throat he rolled the map up and set it aside.

Heat rushed to Livia’s cheeks. It wasn’t her place to intrude into the matters of the officers.

‘Can I draw you a bath?’ she asked, by way of deflection. This close, she could see a sheen of sweat on his skin from the day’s hardships.

He gave the slightest of nods, barely noticeable. It was enough.

Livia was glad of the excuse to leave the room, even briefly. Something about him was unsettling, as though she couldn’t be sure if she had angered him — worse, she was worried he had already tired of her.

She had to march back and forth between the women’s quarters and his room to fill the tarnished metal tub in the corner, taking from the reserves of water they heated in the evening for just such a purpose. By the time the tub was sufficiently full she could feel her dress clinging damply to the small of her back.

The decanus had returned to his map; she could do little more than quietly wait for him to finish, hands folded neatly in front of her.

When he finally turned his attention from the map he rose to his feet and passed her by without a word, moving to the tub. He paused beside it, one hand resting on the brim.

It was her first chance to properly study him: the regal nose, the bulk of his frame. She could see his skin was littered with bruises, wherever it wasn’t covered by his tunic — mementos from sparring with his men.

She watched him smooth his hand over the top of the bathtub, his glance turned down toward the water’s surface. She thought, for the first time, that he seemed nervous.

‘Can I undress you?’ she asked. That usually helped calm the jangled nerves of the inexperienced.

He took so long to answer she was worried she had offended him; when he lifted his blue eyes to look at her, finally, she realized he truly was as young as the women had said, although his thick beard went some of the way toward hiding it.

‘All right,’ he said.

Livia had lost count of all the times she had done this — slowly, with the men who sought to savor the experience, or with haste, for those who craved something more forceful. What had become routine for her seemed all at once to be new territory.

Gently, tentatively, she helped him unbuckle his armor. When the last of it had been shed, she slipped his tunic over his head and let it fall to the floor.

There were more bruises to be seen, as well as scars from years of rigorous and often deadly training. His chest was covered in thick, dark hair that sprawled down his stomach before trailing into his undergarments. He slipped out of the last of his clothing and climbed into the tub; she did her best to keep her glance at eye level, waiting until he had settled into the bath.

He was so broad that he brought the level of the water within inches of overflowing, and each time he moved even slightly it splashed precariously close to the edge.

Livia started with his hair, gently angling his head up and back so she could rinse water through his dark locks. He kept his eyes closed, his brow furrowed a little in the middle. She wondered idly, as she rubbed her fingertips across his scalp, what it would take to ease the tension from him.

There were the officers who needed nothing more than a physical outlet for their frustrations; the ones who longed for a warm body to hold; the ones who took a tougher line with her, and left her with bruises that wouldn’t fade for days. From the few words she had exchanged with Regulus, she couldn’t tell which type he might be.

Her fingers kneaded along his scalp and down his neck, and when she reached the expanse of his shoulders she felt how rigid he was.

It didn’t usually take long for her to work tension from the shoulders of the men she tended to, but it seemed that the more she massaged the knots in his muscles, the worse he seemed to get. He was holding back, as though he couldn’t — or wouldn’t — relax.

She frowned. It was a rare day when it took so long to put someone at ease, and she wondered perhaps if he would have been happier instead with another man.

She leaned close to his ear, stooping low — so low her long hair tumbled into the water.

‘You seem uneasy, Decanus,’ she murmured. ‘Let me help.’

Steam billowed off the surface of the water, heating her already warm cheeks. This close, she could smell his musk: the tang of leather armor, sweat, and whatever scent lay underneath it all that was implacably _him_.

Deftly, Livia slipped her hand into the tub. She felt water creep up the sleeve of her dress; knew that the delicate silk was already probably ruined. She didn’t care.

Her fingers found his knee first, where it was pressed to the side of the tub. From there she traced them up his leg, along the inside of his thigh, but before she could get any further he grabbed her by the wrist. The movement was so sudden, so jarring, that it sent water sloshing over the sides of the bath, pooling around her where she knelt.

‘Don’t,’ he said, sharply. She felt humiliation flash through her, hot and dizzying, but before she could pull away he turned his head to look at her. His eyes were wide: apologetic. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

This was no game of hard-to-get; no invitation to seduce him. She felt that she must have upset him already, must have disappointed him. Hester wouldn’t be happy.

She murmured an apology, her eyes turned away in deference. He allowed her to finish bathing him, and they spoke no more.

When he eventually rose from the bath, sending water spilling in torrents down his form, he asked her to fetch his towel. He barely had it around his waist before he dismissed her, telling her to leave the wine and food.

Livia hurried back to the women’s quarters with her dress still damp, her pride bruised. She would tell the others nothing of what had happened — or what _hadn’t_ happened, more accurately — but she knew word would get out soon enough.

She’d never live it down.


	2. Chapter 2

Livia spoke little of her time with Regulus, although Hester demanded an explanation of what had happened to the borrowed dress. Having mumbled out some flimsy excuse, she had been allowed to tidy up her things and turn in for the night.

She didn’t sleep much — her mind kept twisting the encounter inside out, trying fruitlessly to see what she might have done differently.

She expected to hear nothing more of the decanus, but the next night he sent for her again. This time the legionary who sought her out instructed her to come ready with pails of hot water, and she had Hester pick out a dress that might cope a little better with getting wet.

She bathed him as she had the night before and, to her disappointment, he sent her away once she was finished.

The others did little to hide their jealousy; they knew nothing of what had happened in Regulus’s room beyond the fact that she had been called to him twice, and she didn’t have the stomach to enlighten them.

On the third night, nobody came for her.

She busied herself with her usual duties: carrying burdens to and fro, and tending to the requests of the legionaries. When night fell, the door of the women’s quarters creaked open; she rose to her feet expectantly, but it was one of the others who was summoned.

The next afternoon, Livia resigned herself to the knowledge that she had displeased him beyond repair. She knew it would only be a matter of time before he sent for someone else.

She was feeding the mongrels when one of the other girls, Odetta, found her; she was out of breath, clearly having scurried about the capital trying to find her.

‘Hester said you’re relieved of work today,’ she said, gripping at her side. Even as she tried to catch her breath, she wore a wry little smile on her lips. ‘You’ve been summoned again by the decanus.’

* * *

Livia’s nerves jangled as she dressed that evening, her hair freshly washed and scented with sweet-smelling oils. Her lips were a deep rose from a swipe of borrowed lipstick. She had wanted to wear the pink dress again but it bore stains from the watermarks; she was still making up for it to Hester.

Hester picked out a yellow one instead, simple but pretty. Whenever Livia wore it she felt she looked more youthful. Perhaps that was the intention.

Two girls came with her to the officers’ lodgings, bearing trays of food and wine. When they arrived at the entrance, the same legionary from the first night was there, but there was no ironic smile this time as he opened the door for them.

The girls walked ahead of her; when Regulus barked for them to enter, they set the trays inside and darted away as silently as they had arrived, leaving Livia to stand uncertainly at the threshold of the door.

Her breath caught in her throat before she could take a step inside. She couldn’t help but feel that if she failed to impress him this time, it was all over.

He had his back to her as she entered, much like the first night, but he stood this time; his hands were clasped behind him, his chin held high as he looked out the window at the rapidly darkening sky. When she closed the door he turned his head just slightly, as though he had only then noticed her presence.

‘Please, sit,’ he said, with a gesture toward his desk. A second chair had been placed there, and there was no map to be found — this time its surface was cluttered only by the trays the girls had left there.

She felt intermingled confusion and curiosity as she took a seat. She expected him to sit in the other chair but he did not; instead he poured them each a glass of wine and picked up his own, pacing about the room behind her as he sipped from it.

The rhythm of it was dizzying: disquieting. Livia didn’t dare ask him to stop.

‘Will you eat, Decanus?’ she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

‘What? Oh. You go ahead.’

He gave a little flick of his wrist that felt almost like a dismissal, and she couldn’t help but be a little irritated. Why had he bothered to send for her, to subject her to this?

‘Decanus,’ she said, emboldened by her annoyance. She rose to her feet, swiveling to look at him. ‘There are plenty of other girls you could send for. Why keep asking for me, if you only—’

Regulus was in front of her quite unexpectedly, towering above her. She felt dwarfed by him, and suddenly very vulnerable. She knew she should never have spoken so disrespectfully.

‘I sent for _you_ ,’ he said, his voice low and cool.

His expression was impassive until she met his eye; a moment later he took hold of her wrist.

‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Please.’

She swallowed; her skin was too warm where he touched her, her heart drumming a little too heavily in her chest.

When she took a seat this time he finally joined her, and for a while they ate in silence. It felt nothing like any of her encounters with the other officers, and she couldn’t quite seem to shake the fear that she had angered him.

She ate sparingly, picking at her food like a bird. She noticed his appetite was much the same as hers, though he drained two glasses of wine before she had taken half of one.

‘Shall I bathe you, Decanus?’ she asked him, once he had pushed his plate aside.

She didn’t know what else to ask.

He stared at her for a long while, so long she felt certain yet again that she had said the wrong thing. By the time he nodded it felt as though she had held her breath for a minute or more, and her relief was palpable.

At the women’s quarters, Hester seemed irritated that he had called for a bath so late — yet she did little more than grumble as she ordered the two girls from earlier to help bring water for it. She was jealous; it was plain to see.

Regulus let her help him undress when she returned, slipping out of his undergarments once she had finished and stepping into the tub. She knew better now than to fill it so much, so it rose only a little above his hips where he sat.

It struck her that he was tense, as he had been the first night; when she touched her fingertips to his shoulders to ease them, he flinched as though she had struck him.

‘Please,’ he said gruffly. ‘Continue.’

She worked over his shoulders and neck, her touch seeking out all the spots that usually plagued the officers. For the first time he seemed to finally start to relax, and when she took to a particularly stubborn knot at the base of his neck he gave a little moan of appreciation that sent a charge through her, winding down her belly and between her thighs.

With this task complete, she set about sluicing water through his hair; as she reached across him to grab the tallow soap from the lip at the edge of the bath, he lifted his hand from the water and cupped it around hers.

She sought his eyes out, and for once he looked at her without hesitance — the intensity that she found there made her stomach flutter. It seemed to her that there were words ready at his lips, but he never got around to saying them; he let go of her hand and allowed her to carry on.

There was a new bruise on his solar plexus, angry and purple, and she brushed soap-slick fingers over his skin there with infinite care, anxious not to hurt him. If she failed, he didn’t make any show of it.

Soon Livia set the soap aside and cupped her hands together in the water, using it to rinse away the suds. More than once she could feel his gaze on her, but when she glanced up he was looking elsewhere.

He asked for his towel once he had eventually risen from the water, and her feet had already begun to carry her toward the door in anticipation of her inevitable dismissal when he stretched out a hand to stop her.

‘There’s still wine,’ he said. ‘Do you think they can spare you a little longer?’

She hesitated, as though she really had to think about it: as though there were any duty she’d choose over being here. She liked being at the officers’ lodgings — it gave her a feeling of importance — but she liked being in Regulus’s room especially, even if they barely spoke. He didn’t make demands of her like his peers; didn’t seek to remind her of what she was at every turn.

‘Yes,’ she said softly, turning to him once more. ‘I think they can.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Livia meets another familiar face from ITSOTB...

She wandered back to the women’s quarters sometime around dawn, basking in the pale pink strands illuminating the ink-black of the sky.

They had done nothing but talk all night, so why did she feel so happy?

He had called for a second bottle of wine, and a third, and although he had drunk much more than her she could feel the haze of the alcohol in her system, buoying her. She had dozed off at some point, curled up on his bed. He had let her sleep, and roused her with obvious reluctance.

He had said he wouldn’t call on her the next night: he had an audience with Caesar. The words had set the hairs prickling at the back of her neck.

Hester worked her harder than any of the others that day, and the next. Livia found she didn’t care; she distracted herself from her aching arms and back by thinking of Regulus, and of the stories he had told her of his training with the Legion as a youth. He had informed her in great detail of the mayhem his friend, Varius, had gotten up to when they were younger and it amused her even now to remember the fondness with which Regulus had recounted such tales.

Two nights after their meal together he failed to call on her, and again the next. She was starting to worry that she had misread things — that she had allowed her hopes to get the best of her.

The first rule she had ever been taught by the women around her — the first life lesson, beyond how to show suitable deference, or how to stay in the Legion’s good graces — was never to fall for the officers. As she settled in beneath the coarse, unforgiving blanket on her cot, she realized she had already broken it.

* * *

‘Livia!’

Pain flashed across the back of her hand; she glanced up defiantly and found one of the more senior women there, wooden spoon in hand ready to lash out again if needed.

‘Pay attention,’ the woman snapped, and for the first time Livia noticed that she had let flour tip out over the edges of the bowl she was using.

They were making bread for the legionaries, to take out on the road. There were rumors again: that war was on the horizon, that Caesar would soon send some of his finest to clash with the Brotherhood. Livia was as certain as the others at the women’s quarters that this scouting trip would only be the first of many.

She thought of Regulus, and of his meeting with Caesar; she desperately wanted to venture to the training yard to see if he was to be found there, but without an adequate reason she knew she couldn’t. Besides: Hester was still keeping her busy, burdening her with most of the tasks the other girls turned their noses up at.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered; it was a poor apology, but the woman seemed satisfied.

Livia allowed herself only a moment to soothe the pain from her hand before returning to her work.

Once she was alone to her thoughts, she decided she would find a way to see him. She had to.

* * *

She had the others help her bathe and dress that evening, as though she had been summoned. If they had any idea that she hadn’t been called for, they didn’t question her on it.

‘Livia.’

The coolness of Hester’s tone did little to betray her thoughts, but when Livia turned to her the woman’s brown eyes burned with anger.

‘Why aren’t you helping with the brahmin?’ she demanded, her glance taking in Livia’s appearance.

Livia wore a white dress of delicate lace; she had dug out whatever cosmetics she could find, darkening her lashes to make her eyes look bigger, and glossing her lips with a salve made from rosewater.

‘Decanus Regulus sent for me,’ Livia said, eyes wide with feigned innocence. ‘Did nobody tell you?’

Hester studied her for a while, distrust written into her features.

She was still beautiful, but between the graying of her hair and the crow’s feet that crinkled the corners of her eyes, Livia knew she wouldn’t have favor amongst the officers for much longer.

‘All right,’ Hester said after a while. ‘But I need you back before daybreak this time.’

It was difficult not to set off in a run in the direction of the officers’ lodgings, afraid as she was that Hester might see through her at any moment. She forced herself to maintain her composure as she carried the wine decanter on a tray, calmly making her way through the capital.

The evenings were already turning crisp, and Livia knew it wouldn’t be long before the ruined city felt fall’s embrace. Even now, the leaves of the trees dotted throughout the streets were awash with red and gold, as if to match the banners of the Legion.

The shortening days always disquieted her, year in and year out, but she had little room in her thoughts for the sun that had already set, a brilliant moon filling its place in the sky. She was as nervous as she had been the first night she had made this walk to Regulus’s room — perhaps more so now.

The guard outside the motel was a different one than before, but he barely paid her any attention as he waved her through the entrance. She took quick strides to Regulus’s room, and it was only once she had knocked on the door that it occurred to her he might not be there any more. He had told her the room was only a temporary arrangement, after all — a reward for whatever victory had earned him his promotion. She prayed desperately that someone else didn’t open the door.

The face that appeared before her was unfamiliar: a young man with dark blond hair and a prominent nose, his eyes gray and cold. He looked her over for a little while with a bemused expression before taking a step back, opening the door wider.

Regulus was beyond him, sitting at the desk; a second chair was there again, and the desk’s surface was covered in playing cards. It looked as though they were playing Caravan.

‘Regulus?’ the stranger said. ‘Did you send for someone?’

The decanus looked up from his cards, first to the other man and then to Livia. His expression had been one of mild irritation at first, only to morph to one of surprise when his eyes fell on her. He set his hand aside, forgotten, and rose to his feet.

‘Livia?’

She had heard her name so many times over the past few days — barked at her by Hester and by the slave masters, or jeered at her by recruit legionaries who could never hope to share a bed with her.

On Regulus’s lips, it sounded like a prayer.

They stared at one another, neither quite able to look away, until the other man cleared his throat. Livia allowed herself to look him over properly, taking in the tall, gangly frame that was so different from Regulus’s. He wore a legionary’s standard armor, although he had shed pieces of it at some point for comfort.

‘Varius,’ Regulus said. He spanned the room, coming to stand beside his companion. Varius’s eyes never quite left him as he spoke. ‘This is Livia.’

Livia had never been introduced to someone in her time at the Legion; the name they had given her, worlds apart from the one she had been born with, was tossed around as though she were a _thing_ rather than a person. She had grown accustomed to it over the years.

She hadn’t even been sure if he had known her name. She wondered if he had learned it before or after he had first called for her.

‘Did you send for her?’

Varius’s voice needled at her. Somewhere at the edge of her thoughts she remembered his name from Regulus’s tales about his friend, and any other time she might have been glad to meet him. He seemed as irritated by her presence as she was by his.

Regulus ignored his friend’s question, instead beckoning Livia in. He moved the cards a little away from the edge of the desk to make room for the tray she had brought, and when he turned to her he took it from her hands.

‘Do you play Caravan?’ he asked.

Livia glanced at the spread on the table: Varius was winning this game, and judging from the modest pile of silver coins by his seat he had Regulus greatly outmatched.

‘A little,’ she murmured. She said nothing of her childhood in the NCR — of how she had learned to play before she could properly count. Her father never let her play for caps, but that hadn’t stopped her.

Regulus gave a wave of his hand towards his cards laid out on the table.

‘Why don’t you take over for a while? Varius is winning, anyway.’

Varius didn’t seem pleased by the interruption, but neither did he argue as Livia filled Regulus’s seat.

A quick glance through Regulus’s deck found that he had selected all the wrong sorts of cards: an amateur’s mistake.

‘Who taught you to play?’ she asked idly.

She shuffled through until she found a Joker and placed it on the 10 of spades in one of Regulus’s caravans; it meant it removed it from play, but Varius also had to discard all of the 10s he had in use. That leveled the playing field somewhat and Varius didn’t seem happy about it.

‘Varius,’ Regulus replied. He stood a little behind Livia, watching over her shoulder. ‘Why?’

Livia smirked. She caught Varius’s eye, and for a moment she thought she saw a twinkle of mischief there.

‘Your _friend_ has done you a disservice, Decanus,’ she said. ‘He never taught you how to plan your deck.’

She heard the rustle of material as Regulus shifted behind her; felt him place his hand on the back of her chair, his fingers brushing her shoulder.

‘Why do you say that?’

Livia leaned forward, reaching out to Varius’s discard pile. When he didn’t shoo her away, she picked it up and flipped it over, filtering through the cards to show them to the decanus.

‘See how they’re mostly 6s, 10s, and face cards? A couple 3s and 5s, but nothing else?’

Regulus nodded; she could tell he wasn’t quite following.

She set Varius’s cards back in their place and gestured to Regulus’s caravans; after her first move, removing the solitary 10, there was only a random assortment of cards adding up to various totals. 

‘The goal of the game is to outbid your opponent, right?’ she said. ‘The fastest way to do that is to hit twenty-six with 6s, 8s, 10s, and Kings. But you’ve picked out all of these junk cards that just slow things down, giving him all the time in the world.’

Varius was silent as he placed a 10 down to replace one of the ones discarded from play; Livia could see a twitch in his jaw, which she couldn’t quite place as anger or amusement.

She drew a King into her hand and placed it down on a 5 in one of Regulus’s caravans. It brought the total of it to twenty-one.

‘I think your friend’s been playing you for all you’re worth,’ she said, leaning back in her chair. She could feel the warmth of Regulus’s hand again. He left it there for a long while, before eventually moving away to finish his drink.

Livia still lost by the end of it; she drew too many bad cards and Varius was too far ahead, anyway. She beat him in the next game, however, and he elected to quit while he was ahead.

She gathered up Regulus’s cards, neatening them back into their deck and handing them to him.

‘Next time you see a trader,’ she said, ‘grab all of his 6s and 10s. Trust me.’

Regulus seemed impressed as he took the cards from her; he played his thumb over the worn surface of the top card, as though studying the mottled casino design on its back. He set the deck aside and returned to her a moment later, laying a cup out before her and filling it with wine. Once he had refilled Varius’s cup, he set the decanter down and leaned against the table between them.

His skin was a little flushed; his tunic seemed to sit haphazardly. It took one glance at Varius — one chance sighting of the way he looked up at his friend, almost reverently — to realize that he felt more than admiration for the decanus. Livia wondered if Regulus knew.

As if Varius sensed her eyes on him, he looked away with a gruff clearing of his throat. He drained his cup in one draught and set it aside, pushing his chair back and rising unsteadily to his feet.

‘I should go,’ he said.

‘You don’t have to,’ Regulus began, but Varius cut him off with a shake of his head.

‘No. I do.’

Livia watched him gather up his things and diligently gather the discarded pieces of armor. He looked a little more the part of a legionary once he was in his full regalia, although he still carried himself uncertainly — as though he hadn’t quite grown into his long limbs. When he opened the door, he paused and rested his weight against the frame, turning back into the room.

‘Remember to get some sleep,’ he said, to Regulus. ‘Big day tomorrow.’

Livia waited until he had gone to question Regulus. She found him subdued; apprehensive, perhaps.

‘“Big day”?’ she echoed. ‘What’s tomorrow?’

Regulus sighed. With a shake of his head, he moved to the window and leaned against the ledge, looking out into the night.

‘The Legate is to select the contubernia to make up a new centuria,’ he said quietly. ‘Whoever is chosen will march on the Brotherhood in the summer.’

The rumors were correct, then. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of her peers had the privilege of hearing this information firsthand.

‘Is that what all the patrols are for?’ she asked. ‘We’ve been helping prepare for them.’

Regulus nodded.

‘We know little about the region since Denver was abandoned. They’ll forge a path for the centuria to follow.’

‘Will your contubernium be chosen?’ she pressed. He had met personally with Caesar, after all — it seemed only likely.

‘I don’t know. Let’s not talk about this.’

He seemed distant from her: whether irritated or merely distracted, she couldn’t tell. She supposed she couldn’t fault him for his thoughts being elsewhere.

She slipped from her chair; soundlessly, she crossed the room until she was behind him and touched her hand to his arm.

‘Come on,’ she said gently. ‘Let me teach you how to play Caravan. _Properly_ , this time.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this is the chapter where this fic earns its 'Explicit' rating.

They played Caravan until Livia’s eyes started to blur and she found herself making sloppy mistakes. Even Regulus noticed that she was tired; he took advantage of her inattention to quite happily line up his cards and before she knew it, he had won.

‘I think that’s enough for now,’ he said, gathering the cards up.

She helped him tidy the desk and they sat together awhile, finishing off the wine.

‘I should probably get back to Hester,’ Livia said. She chewed her lip, glancing toward the door. ‘I’m not really supposed to be here.’

Regulus laughed; she realized it was the first time she had heard the sound. It was rich and full of warmth, and she would have given anything to hear it again.

‘I wondered why you showed up unannounced,’ he remarked with a shake of his head. ‘Won’t you get in trouble?’

Livia smiled meekly, bringing her glance back to him.

‘Definitely.’

The window was fogged against the chill of the night outside, yet Livia could still see the glow of the moon through it. How many times had she been in rooms like this, on nights like tonight? How many times had she kept men company until their lamps had burned away to nothing?

She could think of Hester, no doubt storming about the women’s quarters now that she had realized Livia’s lie. She wouldn’t do anything about it, not while Livia was with a decanus, but the punishment was sure to be severe.

It had seemed worth it at the time.

She wanted to ask Regulus if he thought it had been too — or if it had been as naive and pointless as it had been reckless. She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t touched her yet.

Regulus was silent. His eyes were on the Caravan deck where it sat neatly at the back of his desk, face-down. With anyone else she might have giggled and thrown her hair over her shoulder, might have coaxed his troubles from him with a sugar-sweet query. She had a feeling none of it would have worked with him.

‘You should go,’ he said quietly.

Disappointment prickled at her, making her pout. She had hoped he had warmed to her by now. Perhaps she was wrong.

‘Of course, Decanus,’ she murmured.

She had brought nothing with her beyond the tray and the wine; it took her little time to gather everything up ready to go. She bowed as she went, a well-practiced little bob at the knees that barely broke her stride.

‘Wait.’

Her hand was already at the door knob, ready to twist it open. She felt resistance at her left hand and realized he was taking the tray from her. She couldn’t help but let it go in her surprise, watching from the edge of her vision as he set it on the plum-colored carpet.

‘You don’t have to go,’ he said. His voice was almost lost for how softly he spoke, as though he were afraid he’d startle her away. ‘I don’t want you to stay because you think you have to.’

The other girls had talked wistfully of the new decanus, daydreaming of the ways they would make love to him if he should call them to his room in her place. Most of their daydreams had involved him shoving them into the wall and having his way with them; the man she turned around to face now couldn’t have been farther from that fantasy.

‘That’s not how I feel,’ she murmured.

He was looking at her somberly, just a foot away. She wondered if he could smell the jasmine in her hair — wondered if he liked it.

‘Livia,’ he began, before cutting himself off.

She waited; he never got around to finishing. She tried to read whatever might have gone unspoken in the blue of his eyes but he promptly glanced away. Belatedly, she realized she had taken a step closer to him without meaning to.

‘You’re not like the others,’ she said.

‘Neither are you.’

She moved that much closer until they were toe to toe, with little care that the dust of his boots might brush off onto her borrowed white shoes. This close, she had to lift her chin to look up at him. His hands twitched at his sides as though he meant to move them; it took a few tries before he lifted them to rest on her hips.

She felt small in his grasp — delicate and frail — yet she trusted him. When he slid his hands up her waist, his eyes finding hers once more, she couldn’t help but shudder pleasantly.

‘Do you want this?’ he asked, pausing.

She giggled — a habit. It seemed a ridiculous question for him to ask. He wasn’t smiling, however; he lowered his face close to hers and looked at her seriously.

‘I mean it, Livia. Do you want this?’

Her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed.

‘Nobody’s ever asked me that before.’

He didn’t back down; she hadn’t answered him yet.

How could he possibly ask that? How could he presume for even a moment that she might not want to be right here? But then — hadn’t she been trained to make it all feel real? Hadn’t she spent years learning how best to please a man, to cosset his ego and make him feel as though she had never been so in love?

Livia knew he was waiting for one word; anything else and he would tell her to go.

‘Yes.’

It felt wholly ineloquent, but it was enough. Regulus pulled her that little bit closer, until she was pressed to his broad torso, and slipped his hands down to nestle at the curve of her back. The room was warm from their body heat, from the flames of the lamps sitting on the desk, the floor, the window sill, yet she couldn’t help but tremble in his arms.

He walked her slowly backwards until she was up against the door; when she could go no further he stood with his lips so maddeningly close to hers she thought she’d die if he didn’t kiss her.

‘Do you want _me_?’

She didn’t have to think on it; not for a moment.

‘ _Yes._ ’

His arms slipped from around her. He cupped a hand beneath her chin and tilted it, bringing her lips to his.

She couldn’t remember ever being kissed like this — so sweetly, so gently. It felt as though he were afraid to break her, yet the longer his mouth pressed to hers, the more she wanted. She tried to deepen the kiss, to dart her tongue out to part his lips, but that only made him pull away.

His breath shuddered out when he separated from her; when she looked into his eyes his pupils were wide, ringed with the tiniest sliver of blue. 

Regulus took her hand in his, big and warm and calloused from years of training. When he gave her hand a tug, she could only follow.

He led her to the bed, as she had expected, but he didn’t push her down onto its surface as the other officers usually did. Instead he stood with her beside it and gently gripped her hip, turning her so that her back was to him.

A question bubbled up on her lips but she fell silent as she felt him go for the zipper at the back of her dress, carefully pushing her long hair aside with his other hand. He barely pulled the zipper down a few inches before he pressed a warm kiss to the top of her spine, then another. 

He opened the zip the rest of the way, but he took his time in doing so — every couple of inches he would stop and mouth kisses into the skin he had just exposed. By the time he got to the bottom, his hands resting on her hips, she felt drunk with need.

He kissed his way back up, running his hands up her sides all the while, and when he reached the nape of her neck she couldn’t help but give a delicious little shiver.

‘This is a beautiful dress,’ he said, his breath warm against her neck.

‘It’s not even mine,’ she replied.

The pad of his thumb brushed across her shoulder blade, rough but warm; she felt a little thrill of anticipation that he would finally slip her dress from her, but he seemed intent to tease her as he simply pushed it a little aside and laid a series of heated kisses across her shoulder.

‘Maybe,’ he said between kisses, ‘I’ll get you something even nicer someday.’

She had a tart little retort ready on her tongue, but before she could spit it out he nipped at her shoulder and her words gave way to a little gasp. She felt the pull of desire, the electricity that wound through her and down between her legs. She rocked back and found him there waiting for her, his hips ready to catch hers, and when she pressed against him she felt the bulge of his arousal through his tunic.

It was all she could do not to pull him down on the bed. Somehow, miraculously, she waited through his teasing little kisses and bites until he eventually pulled back and slipped her dress from her shoulders.

Livia helped him as best she could for all her trembling, shimmying her hips out of the last of the fabric. Before it had even hit the floor he wrapped his arms around her and smoothed a hand up her stomach, mouthing kisses into her neck as his hand found her breast.

His other hand rested on her hip; she sought to guide it downwards, but he stopped just at the edge of the fabric of her underwear. He was so close — just another inch — but try as she might, she couldn’t get him to budge.

It was only once she let go that he finally moved his hand, easing his fingers down over the top of her panties. She was so _wet_ — he could probably feel it through the fabric — but for all her body longed for him he seemed to want only to continue teasing her, cupping his hand between her thighs.

She tried to press herself harder into his touch; he let go of her breast and grabbed her hip, firm but careful, and held her fast.

‘Tell me what you want,’ he said, his breath ragged in her ear.

It took more coordination than she thought she had to straighten out the jumble of words in her head; when she did, she could barely stutter out more than a breathless ‘ _You._ ’

Her answer seemed to satisfy him. Through her panties, he stroked a finger up with such teasing slowness that she could do little more than let her nails bit into the palms of her hands. When finally, graciously, his finger brushed her, the contact sent a jolt through her so intense that she gasped, dropping her head back against his shoulder behind her.

He moved in slow, lazy circles, seemingly oblivious to the havoc that his pace was wreaking on her. When she didn’t think she could take any more he was gone all at once, stepping back away from her.

She turned around, indignant, but she found him working open the buckles of his leather armor. She was all too eager to help him, her fingers trembling at the straps and serving at times as more of a hindrance than a help.

The armor fell to the floor with muffled thuds, piece by piece. When the last piece dropped, she helped him lift his tunic up over his head and tossed it aside, already setting her sights on his undergarments.

He stopped her with a hand and a shake of his head. She thought maybe he was teasing her again, but when she looked expectantly up into his face his cheeks were red with arousal, his lips flushed.

‘Lie back,’ he said, gruffly.

She did as she was told.

The blankets were scarcely better than hers at the women’s quarters, thin and scratchy, but she paid them little attention as she watched Regulus slip his thumbs beneath the band of his underwear and let it drop.

She had seen him before, intimately: had bathed him and done her best to keep her attention elsewhere. Yet now, as she lay back with her knees a little apart, her hand draped on her thigh, she took her time in following the thick, dark curls of hair leading her glance down his chest, his stomach, and between his legs.

The sight of him, hard — for _her_ — made her ache so profoundly she could do little more than bite her lip and press her thighs together.

She thought of how it would feel to have him inside: to be filled by him, his body heavy atop her.

The mattress sagged as he perched himself at the edge of it, a hand on the pale, freckle-littered length of her leg. He slid it up to her knee and looked her over — never predatory; more in awe. She couldn’t think of another man who had ever looked at her like that, as though she had stolen his breath away.

She couldn’t help but ask: ‘What are you thinking about?’

He barely shook his head; gave her knee an absentminded squeeze.

‘Nothing.’

Did he know she could tell he was lying? She had spent so long studying men, learning what made them tick and how to give them exactly what they wanted, that sometimes it was easier to know their mind than it was to know her own. Regulus was inscrutable in many things, but in this he was an open book.

She didn’t press him; instead she let her legs fall open, wetting her lips with her tongue. If he didn’t want to speak his thoughts, he’d have to make it up to her in other ways.

He lingered a little while longer, his hand warming her knee. With another squeeze he moved it, brushing his fingers up the inside of her thigh. When he was almost to the top he lifted his hand away and she might have groaned in frustration had he not slipped his fingers beneath the band of her panties. With both hands, he edged them down, pausing to let her lift her hips to help his progress.

He took too long, no doubt intentionally: she brought her hand to her mouth and bit the tip of her thumb as she watched him slowly, painstakingly slip the offending garment down her legs and — _finally_ — off altogether, to be discarded delicately on the floor.

His hand was at her calf, pushing it gently aside. She expected him to climb onto the bed and move on top of her but instead as she parted her legs for him he leaned down and mouthed a kiss into her thigh.

He trailed his way up with infinite care, pressing kisses first to one side and then the other, shifting until he was kneeling between her legs. He lowered himself then, his hands steadying his weight on the mattress beneath her hips, and nuzzled his nose into the soft, pale hair between her legs.

His beard rasped against her thighs, tickling her, and she gave an involuntary little laugh; he soon coaxed a moan from her in its stead as his tongue dipped into the wetness between her legs.

Livia writhed and squirmed under his touch, setting the blankets askew as she gripped at them in ecstasy. 

The last time she’d been given such treatment, it had been years earlier with one of the recruits; he had been young and sloppy, his head filled with outdated ideas of what it meant to pleasure a woman. His efforts had been valiant, if fruitless.

With Regulus, though… _Oh_ , he seemed to know just how to touch her. Whenever she thought that it was too much, that she couldn’t take any more, he would ease off and move his tongue in slower, gentler strokes. Her legs were soon quivering; she could do little more than knot her fingers into his hair and moan in appreciation.

The sound brought his eyes up to hers, his gaze fierce and full of hunger. If it hadn’t all felt so good, so agonizingly good, she would have pulled him up and kissed him until he was breathless.

His hand gripped at her leg, needy and desperate, and as his eyelids fluttered closed again she heard the whisper of skin against the blanket. When she looked down, he had snaked his other hand between his legs: had taken himself into his grasp, his strokes slick and urgent.

It was that more than anything — seeing him so swept up by desire, desire for _her_ — that drove her almost over the edge. Her climax had been steadily creeping up on her, a perfect, languid pace, until suddenly it wasn’t creeping any more, it was _right there_ , just a moment more and— 

He stopped.

Red in the face, chest heaving, she lifted her head to glare at him. He crawled up the bed, kneeling between her legs, and silenced whatever complaints she might have had with a kiss: his mouth was wet and hot and tasted of _her_ , and she gave a little sigh against his lips that only made him kiss her harder.

One hand was at her hip, pawing at her flesh. She felt it slide down to her thigh; felt him push her leg roughly to the side. When she broke from the kiss to look between their bodies he was right there, poised, so close she could almost feel him. 

She moved her hands, sweat-slick, down his sides. Gripped him: pulled him closer. An invitation.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips unconsciously, and she was so distracted by the movement that she misgauged the moment he pushed himself inside and she couldn’t brace herself for it, couldn’t be ready for just how _good_ he felt.

Her whole body shivered, her hips tensing, and that little spasm around him made him choke out a groan that was at once sweet and hot and _too much_.

Livia couldn’t put up with any more teasing, not now — not with him inside her, his fingers still digging into the flesh of her thigh. She never gave him the chance, slipping her legs around his waist: holding him in place, her green eyes daring him to defy her.

He didn’t. Couldn’t, it seemed: his mouth found hers again, his kisses growing more frantic as his hips ground down against hers.

She snaked a hand down between them, felt the slickness of her thighs; let her fingers brush against him where he thrust into her over and over. Where his rhythmic movements brought her close, she used trembling fingers to bring herself the rest of the way and— 

She was awash in pleasure, waves crashing around her. She couldn’t tell if it was her pulse in her ears or if she were drowning, if she’d been transported somehow to an ocean she hadn’t seen in a lifetime. It washed over her, warmth flooding her from between her legs where he still drove his hips into her, to the tips of her fingers and toes. She let out a sound that was part-scream, part-moan; she didn’t have it in her to be self-conscious.

The pulse of her climax, the way her body writhed beneath him, was enough to bring him over the edge: somewhere in the haze of her own pleasure she heard him groan, his movements faltering as he threw his head back, eyes closed in rapture.

He fell against her just as the overload of sensation had begun to die down for her; his chest was too hot, too heavy, yet she wouldn’t dream of moving him.

The kisses he left along her throat were clumsy and inelegant but she welcomed them, such a rare show of affection made all the more precious by the fact that he’d already had his fill of her.

He lifted himself up from her a little, his torso parting from hers stickily. His earlier bath seemed such a waste now; Livia wondered, blearily, if she might be able to rinse herself off with some of the old bathwater.

Whatever plans either of them might have had to get clean, however, seemed out of the question when Regulus lay himself alongside her, his arm slung across her belly, his hand gently clasping her wrist. He was so warm, smelled so musky and masculine and familiar that she was reluctant to slip away any time soon.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, brushing his fingertips over goose bumps that had erupted along her arm beneath his touch.

She shook her head sluggishly; she knew that the chill would set in fast once the adrenaline had died down, but she was too comfortable to move.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ she murmured. She never voiced the rest: _I can look after myself._

He fell asleep with his face pressed to the curve of her neck, pressing lazy kisses to her skin even as exhaustion overcame him.

Livia knew she would have to return to her quarters soon — knew that the longer she delayed her inevitable punishment, the worse it would get. For the moment she allowed herself this brief reprieve, listening to the soft and steady sounds of his breathing beside her until it lulled her to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to throw this up last night. Whoops, sorry!
> 
> By way of distraction, [have this amazing, fantastic, perfect moodboard that was created for Livia and that I am utterly in love with.](http://princetybalt.tumblr.com/post/159088458437/chrysalisshell-livia-tropes-insp)

It was a cool, brisk morning, and the coarse hemp dress Livia wore did little to shield her from the fall breeze.

This was her third day of punishment; Hester had neglected to tell her just how long it would endure. She imagined months of the worst of the women’s duties in her future, maybe even more. That she had known what she was signing up for when she lied to the others didn’t make things much better.

She knew Hester could have turned her in to one of the slave masters, but she had not. Whatever punishment the woman could mete out, it would be nothing compared to the brutality of the legionaries.

Her arms ached from the repetitive nature of her work; she daydreamed of Regulus’s bed, and his halting touch.

She was cleaning the brahmin trough that morning, sluicing it out with water and trying in vain not to let it run over her sandaled feet. She wasn’t doing a good job of it.

‘Am I interrupting?’

It was unusual to be addressed in the middle of labor, unless by the barked orders of a Legion officer; this voice was kinder and more patient. Regulus.

She felt heat rush to her cheeks; for the first time she was self-conscious about being seen with unwashed hair and in such lowly attire.

‘Decanus,’ she blurted. She held the bucket she had been using up in front of her, as though it might somehow hide her appearance. ‘Did you need something?’

Regulus inclined his head.

‘I wanted to tell you myself,’ he said. ‘My contubernium has been selected to join the centuria that will face the Brotherhood next year.’

Livia blinked at him, unsure how to respond. It was a great privilege, of course: should the centuria prevail against the Brotherhood there would be boundless glory ahead, much as there had been for those who fought at Hoover Dam. Yet it all seemed abstract, as though the war had little to do with her. It was to be fought far away, in a place she had never seen — would never live to see.

She shifted her weight onto her hip; squinted her eyes a little as the cloud cover lightened and turned the sky a dazzling blue.

‘What an incredible honor,’ she said. The words felt hollow: insincere. ‘I am sure you will serve Caesar well.’

Something rippled across Regulus’s face, and his eyes seemed to harden. All at once they were a decanus and a chattel whore, worlds apart.

The day seemed a little colder now.

When he didn’t reply, she gave a perfunctory bow and turned from him, returning to her work. The brahmin elsewhere in the enclosure milled about noisily, a cacophony of stomping hooves and hoarse braying.

‘Livia.’

She almost didn’t hear him over the din of the animals: couldn’t have been sure if she were imagining things. When she looked at him, bucket still clutched tightly in her hands, he was leaning towards her with his hands on the wooden posts of the fence.

Something struck her, as he stood watching her in heavy silence. He had said her name so often — for how little he had spoken to her, it had crossed his lips many a time — and yet she still couldn’t tell how he knew it. She had never told him; officers typically didn’t ask.

‘May I ask something, Decanus?’

He narrowed his eyes just slightly. With a half-nod, he motioned for her to continue.

‘How did you know my name?’

Surprise lit up Regulus’s features. Maybe it had never occurred to him that she hadn’t introduced herself, either.

‘I saw you,’ he said. He had looked away; he seemed to be gazing very intently at the paths of the brahmin moving about behind her. ‘A few weeks ago. I passed you while you were feeding the mongrels at dawn.’

She flushed. She went about her duties as though she weren’t being watched; to know that he had seen her at work, dressed as poorly as she was now, filled her with shame.

‘It didn’t take long to find out your name,’ he said, lifting his weight from the post of the fence as he took a step back. ‘The decani talk about you sometimes — “the one with hair like fire”. I think they’re a little afraid they’ll get burned.’

It seemed such a poetic turn of phrase to come from the mouth of a decanus that Livia couldn’t help but smile.

‘Are _you_?’ she asked.

Regulus thought for a moment. Whatever answer he came to, he kept it to himself; he moved along the fence, in the direction of the training yard — away from her.

When he reached the end, he turned back to her. He seemed hesitant again, like that first night.

‘I don’t think your punishment will last much longer,’ he said.

She thought she caught a hint of a smile on his lips. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

‘What makes you say that?’

He shook his head. If there was some hint there for her to riddle out, it was lost on her.

He left her to her chores without a goodbye; she might once have been insulted, but instead she stared after him, bemused. Somewhere nearby a commanding voice barked at her to get back to work. Even as she obeyed, her thoughts were on Regulus.

* * *

_March 2289_

Her hands trembled a little as she sorted through her belongings.

They were few — mostly borrowed items that would have to be returned, along with a handful of sundries that could be found amongst any of the other girls’ things.

There was something of value there, however, buried away in the folds of a hemp dress: a mirror. She was scared to let any of the others see it, so she hadn’t looked at it since Arthur gave it to her.

 _Arthur_. She knew it was dangerous to think of him by that name, that any ties to his old life could be seen as disloyalty. Yet from the moment he shared it with her, as they had lain in each other’s arms one night, she daydreamed of a time when she might be able to speak it aloud. 

The Legion were to march in the morning. She would go along with them, as Arthur’s girl.

 _Regulus,_ she told herself. She repeated the name in her head, over and over again, until it seemed to lose its meaning.

She had heard a little of the old Caesar — that he was much more ascetic, that women were little more than breeding stock to him, that his men would have been flogged for giving in so freely to their lust. Yet even with his successor in power, she knew a woman’s place would always be uncertain amongst the Legion. Even so, she knew she was in better standing than she had been, before Regulus claimed her as his own. She would never have to touch another man, _be touched_ by one, as long as he lived.

Hester bristled with impatience; there was still work to be done before Livia left. The woman urged her to hurry up and sent her to clean out the brahmin pen once she was finished.

It was Livia’s most hated task, but she hardly cared. After that day, she told herself she’d never have to do it again.

Perhaps she imagined it, but the legionaries seemed to watch her with interest as she passed them by. Maybe they had heard of her — of who she belonged to. Maybe they were jealous that she now answered to Regulus and Regulus alone.

She tried to remember not to get ahead of herself. However much Regulus might have paid the slave master to claim her for himself, she knew that she’d never truly be _his_. He was as much the property of the Legion as she was; that would never change.

She took a circuitous route to the brahmin pen, meandering past the training yard. The decanus was there — the wind carried his voice as he commanded his men, and the sound of it made her heart pound.

 _Tomorrow._ Tomorrow, it would be the start of something new.

She was sure of it.


End file.
